Metal working, like so many other advances, was largely lost in time. Still, the lairds had a number of innovators and savants blessed with insights into this lost art... but such valuable works were not available to everyone. As such, Nix would find the array of weapons afforded to him lacking in quality. It was more impressive than many parts of the broken world, though, where slings and clubs were the best one could get. The quartermaster offered what he could to Nix: salvaged blades were plentiful, warped iron shortswords or curved blades of lesser varieties; cudgels of treated wood or scrap metal maces, undeniable effective but crude; or the popular spear, which required less skill to create and boasted versatility. Axes were popular, but most were assigned to labourers clearing portions of tree line for the camp.
((I'm sure no one will object if I speed things along.))
...
The rivets and dents of disorder among the youngest lairds were beaten out by the hammering of stern commands and refined by the fervor of duty. The camp thinned out as the majority of able bodied men and women marched towards the looming wall of trees and wild, ancient flora. Men armed with wicked blades led the pack, carving a swath through the stubborn thickets. No doubt this hastily sculpted trail would eventually become a road for the benefit of the main force of lairds.
For now, though, the forest would only be forced to allow a relatively small number of foreigners into her domain. 30 mounted lairds, most headed to the ruins of Eytrus, filed in even lines where the terrain would permit. As predicted, the pace was sluggish. The choppers at the front, spurred on by impatient elders, made way for five—at times six lines. Some of the older men cursed the disorder of their juniors, but the scent of potential glory, no matter how minimal, enticed them to civility.
This contentment, however, strained under a kind of oppression. The trees, thick and gnarled, gaped at the intruders, incredulous. This close, one could see the age of the trees, and suddenly one seems smaller and less significant than before. The forest claimed Glutton’s Gate centuries ago, and it remained the uncontested master of this valley. The people living here, all creatures were absolutely dwarfed by an unmistakable presence. That of nature in its full power, reclaiming the world that was once lost to man. Each of the lairds had to feel that, on some level, they absolutely did not belong here.
That foreboding impression crept down from the canopies, reinforced by the black darkness behind the trunks and distant cries of untamed beasts. There was something more to it, though. Faint blurring of the senses, subtle lapses in concentration, and sudden loss of firm footing all lent to an invisible, oppressive force.
“The air is thick with life,” Klanik murmured. “The forest has restored the magic here. So potent without humans around.” He sounded impressed, or frightened. His apprentice seemed put off by the thick air too, but Pesc was unimpressed.
“Nothing to lose our heads over.” He was at the head of the small group, each laird afforded a horse if they wished, riding behind. It wasn’t long into the trek that the group came upon a thin trail. No use to the main force, but the trail headed in the direction of the village. Relieved by the sign of some civilization, Pesc led the group away from the large contingent and onto the foreign trail.
The well-worn trail was a boon, surely, but it wasn’t long until the group stumbled upon a curiosity. An old, crude structure of sticks and rough rope. Small runes lined the ground around the base, and similar ones were etched into the tangle of sticks.
“Perhaps a signpost?” Pesc offered, gesturing beyond the thing, towards three trails stemming off the path.
“No, this is a shrine,” Klanik intoned, retrieving a few items from his satchel.
“Well… I’m ashamed to admit I’m not much of a pathfinder. I would not want to waste too much time here, do one of you young lairds have an idea? Maybe one of you could quickly—and carefully scout a path?”
Not much could be seen at a casual glance. The trails were obscured by the canopy, and the thickets of trees likewise darkened the wilds beyond. Clues may be found at the ‘shrine’, for the mindful. Skill or might would benefit would-be scouts, surely…
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Topic: [IC] Lairds of Orren (Read 7075 times)